And your little dog, too

I've been compulsively watching tornado videos all morning, beginning with this one and moving on to a larger archive.   That first link is to an article, and the link is buried, apple-F for "Oklahoma."   Fucking CNN, unable to provide permalinks for videos.    Old media sucks.

Cricket (not her real name, by the way, to correct two e-mailing lurkers) is out of town on business this weekend, and instead of tearing it up with the boys, of which I essentially have none, or tomcatting about in unrestrained debauchery, I'm at work, mostly because my entire career hinges on the next month yielding positive results.   

I haven't blogged much about what I'm reading lately.   I finally picked up Kavalier & Clay, as my distaste for universally adored books usually lasts until around such time as the author puts out another book.   It's all right so far.   I'm rereading some Marlowe mostly for comfort, although I don't like it as much as I used to.   The autobiography of Simone de Beauvoir is actually quite good, and I can't put it down.   You'd think reading someone talk about their childhood in a ridiculously self-absorbed fashion would be annoying, but I love it.   It's the sort of thing I'd probably end up doing if I ended up doing something with my life.

I also picked up The Oxford History of the American People but it's slow going, mostly because I just read it while I'm eating.   I'm only up to Henry Hudson.